A Parent's Darkest Fear
by yurImperial
Summary: Penny Polendina: an android with a soul. But where did her soul come from, and why was a soul placed inside an artificial human to begin with? We don't know much about her yet, so I wrote this as a possible origin story for my favorite red-headed robot.


[Nicholas Polendina]

 _This is not intended as a formal treatise on Aura deficiency, but as a working research journal wherein I will outline my thoughts as new evidence appears. It will, however, be instrumental in compiling an eventual manuscript of my findings._

 _-Dr. Nicholas Polendina_

 _A Case for the Link Between Aura and Immunodeficiency_

 _The precise nature of Aura and its constituents - absorption of kinetic energy, rapid tissue regeneration, and individual trait expression or "Semblance" - is not fully understood. The lack of research in this area is of great detriment to our current understanding of human potential, and improvements in our knowledge would lead to heightened effectiveness in both the fields of combat and medicine. Huntsmen have long devoted themselves to the wielding of this mysterious human trait, but even their understanding is far from comprehensive and not well-documented. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to spearhead a branch of scientific research which will attempt to study in greater depth the nature, origin, and limitations of Aura, paying specific mind to its effects on the immune system._

 _After examining many cases of infant fatalities spanning several decades, I have concluded that the vast majority can be attributed to illness. This is not entirely surprising, even with today's current medical standards - it is well known that the immune system waxes until adolescence and wanes at old age, resulting in heightened vulnerability at the dawn and dusk of our lifespan. However, following the few cases where infantile immunodeficiency did not result in death within the first few years, a curious pattern begins to appear._

 _In virtually all cases, the complications persist well into adolescence, with only 47% of patients surviving until adulthood. Furthermore, there are reports of unusual and frightening symptoms, including proneness to injury with slowed natural recovery, lower-than-average bone density,_ _persistent inability to fight off even slight infections,_ _and malnourishment despite healthy diet. This list is far from comprehensive, due in part to_ _the rarity of cases in which the patient survives long enough to be studied, and of course, the blatant lack of research in this field._

 _After many case studies, I can confidently hypothesize that this disorder is tied to a malfunction in the individual's Aura. But in what ways? Is the mechanism for every survival and homeostatic function - instinct, sensory attunement, even body heat regulation - tied intrinsically to Aura? If so, our understanding of the human body is indeed quite lacking. And what of those whose_ _Aura is underdeveloped? To what extent does Aura influence the life of the average person compared to the huntsman? There is still so much to learn. I must answer these questions, not only for science, but also for my __

"Papa!"

A sweet, sing-song voice jolts me out of my typing just as a head of copper curls nearly crashes into me. I catch Penny just in time and swing her high into my arms, journal forgotten in a moment of bliss.

"Woah, careful there, sweetheart! We wouldn't want you getting another boo-boo, now would we?"

Bringing her darling five-year-old face level with mine, I nuzzle her cheek and get a delighted squeal in return. My chest echoes her laughter with a rumble of its own, though a frown now tugs at the corners of my mouth as I lifted her higher, the weight barely noticeable. While she giggles and claps, I take in the week-old bruise just above her left elbow, still the same angry purple and showing no sign of improvement. The stretch of tendons, painfully visible beneath her paper-like skin. The way her bones feel like a bird's beneath my fingers.

I sit her back down on her feet and let her skip away, still laughing and swinging her arms, but the humor has entirely drained from my face. She made it to five. _There's hope still._ She made it to five _._ As if from a great distance, I watch Penny careen into my wife's legs. Her murmured reproach falls on deaf ears as the energetic girl hops away, running headlong into the yard without a care in the world. After all, she still has time. She made it to five, past the terminal age in most cases. I still have time.

I sit heavily before the monitor with its open document once more, my fingers busily typing out the hope that slips through them with each passing day.

 _Please let there still be time_...

* * *

I spend nearly every waking hour at the lab now. The progress is entirely too slow. Penny can't wait for the Board of Directors to pass another budget increase, so I put in every extra man hour myself. It still isn't enough.

Penny's doctor confined her to bed rest last week.

I'm relieved for the excuse to be away from home, but a part of me feels guilty. It's just that seeing my darling Penny too weak to even walk from the bed to the kitchen anymore...

I don't sleep. Barely eat. These actions are meaningless if I can't find an answer - some way to save her. If I fail, nothing means anything at all.

* * *

I've been given a deadline.

Two months. Maybe three, if she's lucky.

For the first time, I must seriously consider the possibility that I won't watch her go to school and know the joy of making friends, of learning new things. I won't worry about her going to her first prom, her first date. I won't be able to attend her marriage. If we could have known things would turn out this way, would we have had a child at all? Is Penny happy with this life?

These are the things that fill my head as I return home for the first time this week. Walk in on Penny's sleeping form, serene, angelic. She looks so much like an exquisite porcelain doll in her fragile perfection. A tainted perfection. One that hides lies beneath the surface and among her defective bodily systems. I leave her room weeping softly and sit up with my wife until sunrise.

Then I return to the lab with an idea.

* * *

Tomorrow, Penny will have a new body.

I may lose my position at the facility for this, as the ethics of this last experiment are unlikely to be understood. No one has ever attempted to transfer a human soul to a synthetic body before. But there is only one result I'm concerned with, and one alone.

This is where my Aura research has lead me. A doll suited to contain the brightest, most innocent soul. An outright fix for defective Aura is still years off - years we can't afford - so a functional body for my Penny to grow up in will have to do.

I touch her face and see her healthy for the first time in her life, the flesh feeling like real flesh beneath my fingertips, the copper curls shiny and strong. In the chair opposite, the real Penny slumps, wires snaking away to the machines that will create a miracle. Her eyes lay in shadow, sunken. Her hair is dull and loose. Dark veins weave intricate patterns beneath her translucent skin. The faint rise and fall of her chest is like the labored beating of a dying bird's wings.

I kiss her forehead and begin the process.

* * *

 **20 years later**

I watch her mount the hill behind the house, the one with the tiny grave at the top. She walks hand-in-hand with another girl whose scarlet cape flaps in the early-autumn wind. I already know that on each of their ring fingers rests a simple engagement ring. I continue to watch until the setting sun levels behind them and it forces me to avert my gaze. The tears in my eyes are not from the light, nor the sorrows of the past.

Her life will be very different from other girls, but it will be a life. _Her_ life.

For once, I weep with the blinding brightness of the future.

* * *

[Penny Polendina]

As we crest the rise in the land, a neatly manicured garden rests in the honeyed light of sunset. I follow the path to a small headstone surrounded by small bunches of sweetly-blooming flowers. And hesitate. A touch on my shoulder accompanies the warmth pressed against my hand.

"Penny... are you sure?"

I turn to look back down at the house I grew up in, so small from here. It seems to match the scale of the grave. I can picture myself sitting on the porch or playing in the yard, a miniature doll in her happy doll house. The memories are fuzzy - not everything transferred properly - but I smile at the image. Then I turn back.

"Yes. I need to see it."

Her hand tightens on mine and together we drop to our knees in the grass. There are only four lines inscribed on the stone:

 _Here lies a parent's darkest fear_

 _Overcome by love so bright and true_

 _And though the mortal half lies buried here_

 _Her eternal light lives on to shine anew_

There is no name, but I do not need one to know. This is me; my body, my past. The pain my parents buried to always remember what they nearly lost. A breaking feeling constricts my chest and a small sound from Ruby is what alerts me, even before I feel the tears dripping down my cheeks; I am crying. I am crying.

And it is warm.

"Thank you," I sigh, and imagine the wind carrying my words past the garden, down the hill, to the little house of my childhood.

For giving me this chance.

This life.

This love.

I turn to my fiance and hug her tight, crying, crying with her - and never, ever let go.


End file.
